JEAN   RIVARD 


BY 

JOSEPH  EDWARD  LANOUETTE 


THE     CORNHILL     COMPANY 

BOSTON 


Copyright,  1919,  by 

THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 

All  Rights  Reserved 


JEAN    RIVAHD 


2136833 


DEDICATION 

To  all  fathers  whose  sons  served  in  the  world's  greatest 

war 


CONTENTS 


PART  ONE 

The  Three  Page    1  to    7 

PART  TWO 

The  Two  Page    8  to  16 

PART  THREE 

Phillip,  the  Scholar  and  Soldier  Page  17  to  22 


Page  23  to  36 

PART  FIVE 

Jean,  the  Soldier  Page  37  to  42 

The  Hindu,  and  the  Crusader  Sword 

PART  SIX 

The  Tale  the  Hindu  Told  Page  43  to  50 

PART  SEVEN 

Death  of  the  Hindu  Page  51  to  56 

PART  EIGHT 

The  Croix  de  Guerre  Page  57  to  61 

(Continued  on  next  page) 


CONTENTS—  (Continued ) 
PART  NINE 

'Tis  Reveille  and  another  day 
What  Jean  heard  in  the  trenches 
Jean  with  Phillip  in  the  hospital 

PART  TEN 

Just  a  slip  of  a  lad 

The  Great  Battle 

Jean,  Phillip  and  the  Devil 

The  duel  between  Phillip  and  the  Devil 

Death  of  Jean 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  ONE 

The  Three 


JEAN  RIVARD 


Listen  now  to  this  tale 

You  who  think  to  know  all, 
And  a  legend  of  old 

It  perhaps  may  recall. 
But  this  simply  tells 

Of  a  father's  great  love 
Which  caused  him  to  turn 

From  his  Maker  above, 
And  while  none  can  vouch 

For  its  strict  verity, 
I  now  tell  you  the  tale 

As  was  once  told  to  me. 

Jean  Rivard  was  his  name,  a  most  plain  simple  man, 
(Who  unknown  might  have  died  ere  the  world  war  began.) 
With  his  four-footed  friends,  who  his  lonely  life  cheered, 
In  the  newly  cleared  land  had  a  small  cottage  reared. 
Which  in  time,  to  Jean  long,  did  the  good  fairies  bless, 
Who  sent  to  Jean's  cottage  the  light-hearted  Jess, 
The  hard  toil  became  play,  Jean  did  care  to  wind  fling, 
Counted  not  upon  what  the  next  morrow  might  bring. 

Contrasting  were  they,  these  two,  so  well  mated, 
Only  Heaven  could  have  such  a  marriage  created, 
Ever  kissing  her  neck  was  the  light  waving  gold, 

3 


4  JEAN  RIVARD 

The  laughing  blue  eyes,  and  red  lips  never  cold, 
A  well-rounded  form,  a  hand  for  work  ready, 
The  foot  that  oftimes  was  to  music  unsteady, 
All  in  all,  such  as  one  has  perhaps  seldom  seen, 
Was  the  Jess  that  the  fairies  had  sent  to  her  Jean. 

In  the  field  around  Jean  are  the  bobolinks  singing, 
But  sweeter  by  far  are  the  summer  winds  bringing 
The  ne'er  delayed  call  to  the  meal  well  prepared, 
Served  daintily  by  her  who  his  cottage  now  shared; 
Then  would  Jean  rest  awhile,  of  work  never  thinking, 
But  one  day  of  all  days  sat  till  sun  was  low  sinking, 
As  with  her  on  his  knee  did  his  dear  one  enfold, 
With  her  head  on  his  breast,  was  the  great  secret  told. 

Jean's  bit-champing  friend  and  the  cud-chewing  beast 

Were  treated  one  day  to  a  most  royal  feast, 

The  lean  wistful-eyed  dogs,  who  by  chance  there  did  stray, 

By  the  scraps  and  the  bones  well  remembered  this  day. 

The  footsore  and  weary  were  not  turned  from  the  door, 

All  welcome  were  they  to  partake  of  his  store. 

Why  does  Jean's  simple  heart  with  such  gladness  expand, 

As  he  scatters  his  hoard  with  a  prodigal  hand? 

Yesternight,  a  large  bird,  as  o'er  the  house  flying, 

Had  dropped  a  small  parcel  near  where  Jess  was  lying. 

But  like  a  rare  orchid  that  is  cherished  with  care 
Lest  its  petals  be  shorn  by  the  cold  wintry  air, 
Even  so  came  to  be,  when  hour  after  hour, 
Jess  and  her  Jean  watched  the  weak  fragile  flower, 


JEAN  RIVARD  5 

For  days  there  were  many  when  they  ate  not  nor  slept 
As  their  ne'er  ceasing  vigils  they  untiringly  kept, 
Jean  now  prayed  to  his  God  as  he'd  not  prayed  before 
That  the  Spectre  of  Death  might  be  kept  from  his  door. 

Though  the  night  endless  seems,  comes  the  bright  dawn 

at  last, 

And  the  sun  shines  again,  for  the  crisis  is  passed, 
As  the  thin  wasted  form  'gainst  her  bosom  did  rest, 
By  the  dear  mother's  hand  again  fondly  caressed, 
No  queen  silken-clad  was  more  happy  than  she, 
Who,  cotton-gowned,  crooned  a  low  lullaby, 
The  overful  heart  sent  glad  tears  to  her  eye, 
For  her  arm  held  that  which  a  queen's  gold  could  not  buy. 

When  as  day  followed  day,  and  week  after  week, 
The  pink  overspread  the  once  thin  pallid  cheek, 
The  little  limp  arm  had  become  plump  and  round, 
Where  his  mother,  perchance,  some  new  dimple  found, 
Can  by  no  facile  pen  be  words  written,  that  could 
Describe  the  pure  joy  of  her  young  motherhood, 
As  his  small  baby  hands  wandered  over  her  face, 
And  his  curly  head  nestled  in  its  love-hallowed  place. 

Swiftly  sped  on  the  years,  each  day  something  new, 

As  their  once  feeble  babe  to  a  sturdy  lad  grew, 

Whom  Jean  sometimes  chided,  whom  she  oft  did  caress, 

Just  a  natural  three,  Jean,  Phillip,  and  Jess. 

In  the  two  minds  mature  was  their  childhood  renewed, 


6  JEAN  RIVARD 

By  the  pranks  of  their  boy  was  their  own  past  reviewed, 
Cared  they  not,  Jess  and  Jean,  for  the  big  world  outside, 
Cared  they  only  for  Phillip  and  their  own  fireside. 

In  the  cottage  was  one,  of  herself  never  sparing, 

In  the  field  was  the  other,  strong  armed,  burden-bearing. 

At  night  was  there  counted  what  had  earned  in  the  day, 

All  above  present  needs  for  their  boy  placed  away. 

A  few  pennies  each  day  to  the  little  store  add, 

Which^  would  help  pay  the  schooling  of  Phillip,  their  lad. 

In  the  end,  for  this  toil  would  they  be  well  requited, 

Ever  thinking  of  one,  in  which  both  were  united. 

On  the  vine  covered  porch  are  young  tendrils  clinging 
From  the  warm  sun-kissed  earth  are  the  violets  springing, 
In  apple  tree  blossoms  is  the  oriole  swinging, 
Again  is  the  robin  her  summer  nest  stringing, 
Around  the  white  cottage  are  bobolinks  singing, 
But  no  tokens  of  joy  are  these  now  to  Jean  bringing. 

The  light-hearted  Jess  one  day  appeared  sad, 

For  the  first  time  neglected  her  six  year  old  lad, 

The  hand  ever  willing,  for  work  was  not  ready, 

The  small  restless  foot  was  that  morning  unsteady, 

The  light  waving  gold  was  fast  losing  its  sheen, 

To  the  laughing  blue  eyes  many  things  were  unseen, 

The  once  warm  cherry  lips  were  now  cold  and  pale, 

Their  Jess  had  been  stricken,  and  no  skill  would  avail. 

Could  she  but  have  spoken,  the  fear  would  have  been, 

Who  would  care  now  for  laddie  and  her  hard  working  Jean. 


JEAN  RIVARD  7 

Never  far  from  her  touch  were  there  two  always  staying, 

One  weeping,  not  knowing;  one  knowing,  and  praying, 

Little  Phillip,  her  laddie,  the  other,  her  Jean, 

Also  One  who  close  hovered,  presence  felt  but  unseen. 

When  to  her  came  the  Summons  she  left  those  by  her  side, 

With  Him  away  drifted  on  the  slow  ebbing  tide, 

His  wings  spread  for  sails,  guides  her  frail  bark  to  lee 

Of  the  rocks,  barring  entrance,  to  Eternity's  Sea. 

In  the  cottage  now  silent, 

Are  hearts  with  grief  torn, 
The  spirit  departed 

At  the  coming  of  morn. 
The  soft  golden  sunbeams 

As  they  reached  the  white  bed, 
Wreathed  a  halo  celestial 

Around  the  dear  head. 
Her  laddie,  not  knowing, 

On  the  coverlet  weeping 
Was  calling  in  vain 

The  wearied  one  sleeping. 
Jean's  mind  could  not  fathom 

Why  she  should  be  taken, 
In  what  long  he'd  believed 

His  faith  was  now  shaken. 
When  to  Him,  Jean  had  prayed 

Might  be  spared  them  the  rod, 
That  his  prayer  had  not  heard 

COULD  THERE  BE  NO  JUST  GOD! 

End  of  Part  One 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  TWO 

The  Two 


JEAN  RIVARD 


In  the  field  around  Jean  is  a  little  boy  playing, 

Here  and  there,  everywhere,  the  bare  feet  are  straying 

As  a  butterfly  chased,  or  a  speckled  egg  found, 

Or  ran  the  fat  woodchuck  to  his  hole  in  the  ground. 

From  blue-bell  to  daisy  like  a  humming  bird  flits, 

Then  returns  to  Jean  tired,  and  on  plow  handle  sits 

As  Jean  told  a  story,  in  this  way  diverting 

The  mind  that  was  always  to  one  thing  reverting. 

It  was  not  every  day  that  these  two  so  enjoyed, 

There  were  five  in  the  week  when  the  lad  was  employed 

In  holding  the  pen  till  his  fingers  were  aching, 

As  pot  hooks  and  curves  and  circles  were  making. 

The  well-pictured  primer  its  contents  perusing, 

The  old  spelling  book  with  words  so  confusing 

Seemed  to  him  like  time  wasted,  as  he  thought  of  the  pool 

By  the  bushes  well  shaded,  not  far  from  the  school, 

Where  with  bent  pin  and  fly  was  sometimes  a  fish  caught. 

Sharing  there  with  his  lassie,  the  lunch  he  had  brought. 

Of  the  once  open  wound  in  the  scar  there's  a  trace 
Which  Time,  the  Great  Healer,  cannot  wholly  efface. 
Those  that  do  never  heal 
Can  of  these  many  be, 
Does  the  heart  well  conceal 

10 


JEAN  RIVARD  11 

What  the  eye  cannot  see. 
With  the  pain  never  absent 

Then  in  anguish  we're  turning 
To  those  that  are  present 

Who  can  best  still  the  yearning 

For  some  small  compassion  that  can  make  the  heart  glad 
Was  it  so  with  these  two,  Jean  and  Phillip,  his  lad. 

Like  the  strong  rugged  oak,  whose  far-reaching  arm 
Shields  the  sapling  beneath  from  unforeseen  harm, 
Lest  the  merciless  gale  in  blind  furious  wrath 
Uproot  with  a  vengeance  all  that  dared  block  its  path, 
So  Phillip,  the  sapling,  by  the  boughs  overspread, 
Felt  no  touch  of  the  blast  as  it  reared  its  young  head. 
And  offspring  and  parent,  sometimes  bent  by  the  wind, 
Soon  rebound  from  each  blow  with  their  branches  en- 
twined. 

Although  to  the  world,  Jean  was  silent  and  stern, 
When  he  played  with  his  lad,  did  the  years  backward  turn. 
For  the  time  would  regret 

That  he  now  was  a  man, 
Trying  well  to  forget 

As  he  thought  of  some  plan 
How  could  best  keep  away 

From  the  fast  growing  mind 
W'hat  he  looked  for  each  day 

And  would  never-more  find, 

Two  comrades  were  they,  in  the  truest  sense  known, 
The  Oak's  height  had  stopped,  but  the  Sapling  had  grown. 


12  JEAN  RIVARD 

At  the  window  would  Jean,  in  the  morn  often  stand 

To  return  the  goodbye  of  his  lad's  waving  hand, 

As  he  made  the  last  turn  ere  he  passed  from  his  view, 

While  his  school  bag  he  swung,  filled  with  books  not  a  few. 

For  the  studious  lad  in  his  work  did  excel, 

Not  alone  in  what  carried,  but  in  all  things  as  well. 

In  their  rough  games  and  sports  a  bold  leader  was  he, 

With  the  fists  or  the  foils  none  could  claim  mastery. 

Occurred  then  which  none  could  the  least  understand, 
A  panic  disastrous  swept  over  the  land; 
Few  there  were  if  any 

But  received  a  great  fall, 
And  Jean,  like  the  many 

Unaware,  lost  his  all. 
Although  to  ground  felled 

But  a  moment  he  lies, 
By  his  Phillip's  hand  held 

Does  with  new  strength  arise. 
Wrought  again,  hard  and  long,  though  most  blunt  was 

the  tool, 
It  was  all  for  his  lad  who  continued  at  school. 

Phillip  finished  his  course  with  such  merit  that  he 

A  scholarship  won  for  the  great  'Varsity. 

None  prouder  were  there  on  the  day  that  he  told 

His  father  he  now  was  a  student  enrolled 

In  a  great  seat  of  learning,  through  whose  portals  had 

passed 
Men  of  world-wide  renown,  whose  fame  still  would  last 


JEAN  RIVARD  IS 

To  the  end  of  all  time,  and  the  star-blazoned  scroll, 
Which  told  of  their  deeds,  was  to  Phillip  his  goal. 

Now  his  lad  had  attained 

To  what  rightly  belonged, 
To  himself,  Jean  complained 

Had  his  own  life  been  wronged. 
Once  the  time  was  when  Jean  had  ambition  to  learn, 
But  the  mouths  needed  more  than  the  small  hands  could 

earn. 
Handicapped  in  all  ways 

But  one  path  could  he  tread, 
Since  his  young  boyhood  days 

He  no  school  book  had  read. 

But  his  shoulders  were  broad,  his  step  sure  though  slow, 
What  had  been  in  Jean  crushed,  would  his  lad  never  know. 

Between  Jean  and  his  Jess  had  been  nothing  unshared, 
But  to  Phillip,  his  lad,  there  was  never  unbared 
The  every  day  grind  which  he  had  to  forefend 
And  the  burden  that  oft  caused  his  shoulders  to  bend 
As  he  toiled  with  his  might 

Without  one  thought  of  rest, 
From  morn  until  night 

By  one  idea  obsessed 

That  the  hard  stony  path,  which  he  travelled  alone, 
Would  be,  to  his  Phillip,  forever  unknown. 

The  seeds  of  his  thrift,  so  well  had  these  sown, 
That  small  tarnished  coins  had  to  gold  eagles  grown. 


14  JEAN  RIVARD 

A  mere  pittance,  'tis  true, 

Was  this  well-hoarded  gain, 
What  it  cost  to  obtain 

There  were  none  better  knew. 
For  his  Phillip  had  saved, 

There  would  soon  come  the  day 
When  on  roads  roughly  paved 

Would  be  wending  his  way. 

As  Jean  the  pile  counted  was  embittered  by  thought, 
That  his  long  years  of  toil  had  this  small  reward  brought. 

Jean  was  well  past  his  prime,  and  the  unending  care 
Had  whitened  the  locks  of  his  once  raven  hair, 
The  tall  stalwart  form,  which  for  years  had  defied 
All  buffets  and  blows,  from  the  world  could  not  hide 
The  slow  ravage  of  Time,  for  Jean  in  his  zeal 
Had  tended  the  mast  as  well  as  the  wheel; 
He  alone  had  accomplished  the  task  meant  for  two, 
From  Life  had  he  borrowed;  It  demanded  its  due. 

By  Phillip's  years  Jean  should  have  much  younger  been, 
But  from  Jean  was  withheld  what  is  given  most  men. 
Upon  him  had  depended  the  care  of  those  smaller, 
On  his  shoulders  had  fallen  the  whip  of  one  taller. 
Well  remembered  by  Jean  was  the  oft  emptied  bottle. 
A  Demon  releasing  that  no  hand  could  throttle, 
When  at  last  was  no  more  what  had  long  grieved  his 

mother, 
Jean  had  shed  not  a  tear  as  he  looked  at  the  other. 


JEAN  RIVARD  15 

Into  Jean's  mirthless  life  had  by  accident  entered 
What  around  long  thereafter  was  everything  centered. 
But  his  arm  could  not  do  that  for  which  heart  was  longing, 
For  this  would  have  been  the  weaker  one's  wronging. 
Those  that  do  birds  desire  must  for  them  get  a  cage, 
At  the  rate  Jean  was  saving,  it  would  soon  be  an  age. 
When  of  her,  Jean  had  asked,  "Will  you  wait  for  me, 

Jess?" 

Was  there  to  him  answered  the  little  word  "Yes." 
How  much  can  sometimes  a  simple  word  tell, 
Had  for  each  other  waited,  and  they  both  waited  well. 

Has  the  world  rolled  around  with  its  flowers  and  its  snow, 
Much  too  fast  for  the  Oak,  for  the  Sapling,  too  slow. 
For  the  strong  knotted  branch  which  had  served  as  a 

shield 

To  the  fast  growing  Slip  now  no  longer  appealed, 
To  the  sturdy  young  Oak  pushing  upward  its  way 
Impelled  by  a  force  that  no  power  can  stay. 
With  their  boughs  interlocked,  to  an  equal  height  grown, 
There  are  TWO  now  where  once  stood  the  Old  Oak  alone. 

But  the  Old  Oak  is  stiff,  to  the  blast  cannot  bend, 

For  the  life-giving  sap  now  does  slowly  ascend, 

The  brittle  limbs  break  from  the  trunk  roughly  scarred, 

And  its  bold  symmetry  is  forever  now  marred. 

But  the  Young  Oak,  the  Son,  as  it  bends  to  the  storm 

In  its  young  virile  strength,  laughs  the  tempest  to  scorn, 

It  welcomes  the  blow 


16  JEAN  RIVARD 

As  with  head  high  and  free, 
It  sways  to  and  fro 
In  a  wild  ecstasy. 

Now  the  end  was  achieved, 

Jean  was  more  than  content 
That  the  close  of  his  life 

Would  be  happily  spent 
With  the  one  that  was  left, 

As  to  Phillip  he  turned 
For  the  solace  and  cheer 

Had  unselfishly  earned. 
For  his  once  brawny  arm 

Could  not  as  before  wield 
The  axe  or  the  hoe 

Or  the  scythe  in  the  field, 
But  his  own  little  garden, 

Where  he  spent  many  hours, 
Was  more  than  replete 

With  its  fruit  and  its  flowers. 

End  of  Part  Two 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  THREE 

/ 

Phillip,  the  Scholar  and  Soldwr 


JEAN  RIVARD 


Of  the  courses  at  college  there  was  one  that  appealed 
Most  strongly  to  Phillip,  as  he  looked  o'er  the  field 
Where  lads  were  assembling  for  the  afternoon  drill, 
Little  thinking  they  soon  would  depleted  ranks  fill. 
While  in  years  they  were  boys,  yet  each  felt  like  a  man, 
As  they  marched,  then  deployed,  now  in  skirmishes  ran. 
In  the  "esprit  de  corps"  they  all  equally  shared, 
If  war  came,  none  could  say  they  were  found  unprepared. 

It  was  two  years  or  more  since  the  bullet  well  aimed 
Had  startled  the  world,  now  by  fury  inflamed, 
The  great  war  then  begun 

Which  now  seemed  ne'er  would  cease, 
Had  a  menace  become 

To  all  nations  at  peace. 

None  could  say  who  the  next  would  thereby  be  involved, 
'Twas  for  this  Phillip  joined,  for  that  day  had  resolved 
He  would  work  hard  and  long,  while  the  time  still  re- 
mained, 
And  the  bars  win,  before  his  degree  he'd  obtained. 

That  night,  well  considered  were  the  words  he  did  say 
To  his  father,  lest  he  should  his  own  thoughts  betray. 
That  of  which  was  no  doubt,  from  his  father  withheld, 
Time  enough  there  would  be  when  events  so  compelled. 

19 


20  JEAN  RIVARD 

His  one  and  sole  object,  to  Jean  he  explained, 
Was  that  as  a  graduate  he  would  be  retained 
By  his  own  Alma  Mater,  for  every  large  college 
Was  calling  for  those  with  military  knowledge. 

As  Phillip,  war-fevered,  to  his  studies  applied, 
He  thought  of  the  sword  that  would  hang  by  his  side. 
The  books  and  the  drills  were  by  now  well  aligned, 
In  the  lad  was  the  scholar  and  soldier  combined. 
On  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  he  had  awkwardly  sewn 
That  which  to  the  soldier  is  the  first  stepping-stone, 
They  were  Corporal's  stripes,  but  the  General's  star 
Now  seemed  to  gleam  faintly  from  a  distance  afar. 

One  morning,  the  Scholar  was  from  college  dismissed, 
That  noon,  as  an  Officer,  his  dear  father  kissed. 
The  chevrons,  which  once  he  so  proudly  had  worn, 
That  day  from  his  coat  had  been  hastily  torn. 
As  a  fitting  reward  to  the  painstaking  soldier 
His  insignia  had  moved  from  the  sleeve  to  the  shoulder. 
Phillip  thought  of  the  bars,  as  how  brightly  they  shone, 
Also  thought  of  his  father,  who  would  soon  be  alone, 
But  his  country  had  called,  none  could  now  change  his 

mind, 
Was  fully  commissioned,  and  to  duty  assigned. 

As  of  this  Phillip  told,  Jean  was  prone  to  believing 
That  for  months  had  the  lad  been  his  father  deceiving, 
But  that  this  could  so  be,  soon  dismissed  with  a  sigh 
As  years,  resurrected,  in  review  passing  by, 


JEAN  RIVARD  21 

Showed  the  school-going  lad,  then  his  brief  college  life, 
The  Great  War  that  had  drawn  the  whole  world  into  strife, 
Of  what  could  well  happen,  Jean  was  filled  with  a  dread, 
As  there  loomed  up  before  him  the  long  years  ahead. 


But  one  day  now  remained,  Jean  appeared  quite  deranged, 
Would  have  turned  back  the  clock,   or  the  calendar 

changed, 

Like  the  Joshua  of  old  who  commanded  the  sun 
To  stop  in  its  course  till  the  battle  was  won. 
Wished  the  steamer  near  due 

Might  somewhere  be  detained, 
That,  thereby,  could  a  few 

Hours  more  be  obtained. 

There  was  that  in  his  look,  in  the  touch  of  his  hand, 
Which  Phillip,  his  lad,  did  now  well  understand. 


There  were  so  many  words  could  be  left  to  the  last, 
But  that  time  never  came  as  the  day  quickly  passed, 
To  the  thought  ever  present 

Jean  never  referred, 
And  the  subject  unpleasant 

Once  again  was  deferred. 

But  Time  is  no  laggard,  and  it  flies  with  swift  wings, 
Caring  naught  for  the  woe  or  the  pleasure  it  brings. 
To  speak  first  both  waited,  when  too  soon  the  end  came, 
Their  tongues  remained  silent,  but  their  thoughts  were  the 
same. 


JEAN  RIVARD 

On  the  morn  of  the  day 

That  his  Phillip  would  leave, 
Except  those  who  have  sons, 

There  are  none  will  believe 
That  the  Jean  who  now  greeted 

His  lad  with  a  smile, 
The  last  night  in  his  yard 

Had  walked  many  a  mile. 
All  the  words  left  unspoken 

Ere  the  goodbyes  were  said, 
Were  now  told  in  the  grasp 

Where  were  volumes  unread. 
When  the  coaches  rolled  out 

With  the  troops  well  entrained, 
Jean's  heart  was  left  empty, 

The  shell  only  remained. 

End  of  Part  Three 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  FOUR 

Jean  and  the  "Stranger' 


JEAN  RIVARD 


At  the  station  were  many  near  Jean 

Who  did  love  for  their  country  profess, 
And  on  all  such  occasions  are  seen 

Where  they  can  by  their  presence  impress. 
Who  now  cheered  the  brave  lads  on  their  way 

To  a  country  with  perils  unknown, 
Short  time  it  would  be  until  they 

"Over  there"  the  Red  Tyrant  dethrone. 
Of  those  who  were  there  loudly  shouting 

"By  this  only  could  democracy  live," 
Were  many  of  whom  Jean  was  doubting, 

If  for  war  any  sons  they  could  give. 

It  could  not  have  been  Jean  the  next  day 

Who  around  the  house  aimlessly  walked, 
There  was  no  loving  hand  there  to  stay 

The  Ghost  that  now  silently  stalked. 
Who  heard  not  the  loud  scratch  at  the  door, 

Nor  the  little  tap-tap  'gainst  the  pane, 
For  the  first,  there  will  bones  be  no  more, 

For  the  others,  no  handful  of  grain. 
It  was  not  the  few  words  Jean  had  spoken, 

But  it  was  the  few  words  left  unsaid, 
That  brought  on  a  fitful  sleep  broken, 

Which  caused  him  to  toss  on  his  bed. 

25 


26  JEAN  RIVARD 

Of  his  lad  was  reminded  each  day 

By  the  foils  and  mask  hung  on  the  wall, 
On  a  shelf  in  the  closet  there  lay 

Skates,  racquet,  a  golf  stick  and  ball. 
In  the  attic  was  carefully  laid 

Odds  and  ends  that  are  dear  to  all  boys, 
Where  on  rainy  days  Phillip  had  played 

Quite  content  with  his  crude  home-made  toys. 
Hanging  down  from  the  cob-webbed  beam 

Whittled  out  from  a  tough  hickory  board 
By  him  started,  but  finished  by  Jean, 

Were  a  wonderful  gun  and  a  sword. 

Jean  cares  little  what  neighbors  may  say, 

Though  the  yard  is  with  weeds  overgrown, 
In  the  rat-possessed  barn,  rusting  lay 

All  the  tools  which  the  garden  had  known, 
By  the  fence  with  its  hinge-creaking  gate, 

Through  which  seldom  does  anyone  pass, 
For  red  apples  they  dare  not  to  wait 

As  to  school  goes  the  lad  with  his  lass. 
With  a  fear  they  now  quicken  their  pace, 

Though  neither  can  tell  the  cause  why, 
The  something  that's  strange  'bout  the  place 

Cannot  hide  from  a  child's  curious  eye. 

To  follow  his  lad,  Jean  had  tried, 
Did  not  know  he  was  old  until  then, 

From  all  those  to  whom  he  applied 

Was  answered,  "We  want  younger  men." 


JEAN  RIVARD  27 

The  war,  never  ceasing, 
And  each  day  increasing, 
No  old  life  was  leasing. 

Day  by  day  in  the  papers  appeared 

Names  that  made  the  fond  waiting  hearts  sad, 

In  each  one  that  Jean  opened  he  feared 
Would  be  printed  the  name  of  his  lad. 

Of  the  next  day  not  knowing 
Whose  name  would  be  showing 
In  the  list  ever  growing. 

The  November  sun  was  then  setting, 

Soon  he  would  the  old  student  lamp  light, 
This  hour  of  all,  not  forgetting 

Where  the  two  oft  had  sat  there  at  night, 
Well  in  front  of  the  slow  burning  logs, 

All  that  could  the  small  fire-place  hold, 
There  upheld  by  two  mute  patient  dogs, 

Which  once  shone  with  the  color  of  gold; 
Days  agone  had  reflected  like  glass, 

Now  corroded  and  black,they  portray 
That  impartial  does  Time  nothing  pass, 

What  is  touched  by  his  hand,  will  decay. 

Now  different  to  Jean  were  the  flames, 

Ever-changing,  they  cast  on  the  wall 
The  long  wavering  lines  of  two  names 

Which  to  Jean  all  the  past  now  recall. 
It  was  first  of  his  young  charming  bride 


28  JEAN  RIVARD 

That  the  flickering  shadows  now  spelled, 
Then  another  one  stood  by  her  side 

Whom  her  arms  had  once  tenderly  held. 
He  now  thought  of  the  time  when  were  three, 

When  the  united  three  were  as  one, 
Knew  not  then  that  a  day  he  would  be 

There  alone  left,  without  wife  or  son. 

The  old  books,  long  unopened,  unread, 

Which  he  oft  had  with  Phillip  discussed, 
Only  Fate  could  have  been  that  now  led 

Jean  to  where  they  stood  covered  with  dust. 
Strange  to  say  that  the  first  his  hand  crossed, 

And  the  one  for  which  Jean  did  not  look, 
Should  contain  the  queer  story  of  Faust, 

Of  them  all,  Phillip's  favorite  book. 
He  now  read  once  again  this  quaint  lore 

As  he  sat  by  the  fire,  then  he 
Let  it  slip  from  his  hand  to  the  floor, — 

He  was  lost  in  a  deep  reverie. 

Then  as  Jean  in  the  fire-place  gazed 

Were  his  thoughts  in  a  new  channel  led, 
Buried  hopes  in  his  heart  had  been  raised 

By  the  book  which  had  long  been  unread. 
As  its  full  meaning  grasped,  it  was  clear 

It  could  happen  again,  if  'twere  true, 
But  to  ask  the  Unknown  to  appear, 

Was  something  that  Jean  feared  to  do. 


JEAN  RIVARD  29 

Of  his  future,  Jean  was  not  sure, 

His  faith  long  ago  had  been  shaken. 
The  day  when  his  lad  tried  the  pure 

Dear  heart  from  her  sleep  to  awaken. 
Jean  then  had  most  fervently  prayed, 

But  his  frantic  appeals  were  unheeded, 
Why  had  He  not  the  parting  delayed 

Until  Jean  had  his  dear  Jess  preceded? 
It  now  seemed  it  were  but  yesterday 

Since  his  heart  had  been  stabbed  to  the  core, 
The  one  who  could  this  pain  best  allay 

Might  absent  remain  evermore. 

Jean  unseen  had  that  day  overheard 

What  his  neighbors  regarded  as  plain, 
From  his  actions  they  well  had  inferred 

That  he  soon  would  be  going  insane. 
If  what  neighbors  had  said  should  be  true, 

This  suspense  not  for  long  would  endure, 
There  was  one  thing  he  quickly  would  do, 

On  earth  there  would  soon  be  one  fewer. 
Why  should  he  for  an  hour  delay 

In  putting  an  end  to  his  sorrow, 
Although  had  been  spared  him  this  day, 

There  still  was  the  ever  tomorrow. 

From  his  chair  near  the  small  fire-place, 

With  a  face  grim  and  stern,  Jean  arose, 
Phillip's  home  he  would  never  disgrace 

When  his  hand  brought  his  last  long  repose. 


30  JEAN  RIVARD 

Abstracted,  he  picked  from  the  floor 
The  old  finger-marked  copy  of  Faust; 

Then  he  heard  a  loud  rap  at  the  door, 
To  the  desk  was  the  book  quickly  tossed. 

Jean  was  startled  almost  to  a  fright 

When  had  come  unexpected  the  knock, 
With  a  trembling  hand  did  the  lamp  light, 

But  the  door  he  could  hardly  unlock. 
Before  Jean  stood  one  faultlessly  dressed, 

With  a  face  that  bespoke  quick  decision, 
Had  the  confident  air,  self-possessed 

Of  one  who  well  knew  his  position. 
With  a  bow,  asked  in  tones  most  polite 

What  Jean  felt  he  could  not  well  refuse, 
If  he  there  could  a  short  letter  write, 

For  this  kindness  would  Jean  nothing  lose. 

For  this  Jean  was  quite  unprepared, 

As  to  what  best  to  do,  hesitated, 
For  a  second  or  so  blankly  stared 

At  the  one  who  his  answer  awaited. 
With  some  doubt  as  to  if  he  was  right, 

Slowly  Jean  drew  the  door  open  wide, 
To  come  into  his  house  did  invite 

The  one  who  stood  waiting  outside. 
As  he  entered,  Jean  regretted  he  had 

A  few  things  in  the  cottage  neglected, 
Was  not  sure  whether  sorry  or  glad 

Chance  there  had  the  stranger  directed. 


JEAN  RIVARD  31 

Unconcerned  as  though  Jean  was  not  there, 

The  stranger  moved  forward  the  light 
To  the  desk,  where  he  now  placed  a  chair, 

As  though  soon  would  his  short  letter  write. 
Neither  paper  nor  parchment  was  that 

Which  he  then  from  his  breast  pocket  drew 
And  unrolled,  which  at  once  he  laid  flat 

Near  the  book,  of  whose  contents  he  knew. 
No  attention  paid  he  to  the  Faust 

Which  Jean's  nervous  hand  had  held  last. 
With  a  look,  that  to  Jean  was  not  lost, 

Sat  down  where  he  wrote  long  and  fast. 

With  his  queer  looking  pen,  long  and  keen, 

Was  no  fluid  of  any  kind  used, 
Like  some  metal  the  sheet  seemed  to  Jean 

That  had  been  by  a  strange  process  fused 
In  the  cottage  no  sound  was  there  heard 

But  the  scratch  of  the  fast  moving  pen, 
Since  he  came  in  had  been  not  a  word 

Exchanged  there  between  the  two  men. 
Jean  wished,  as  he  looked  at  the  Stranger, 

That  he  had  his  first  impulse  obeyed, 
He  felt  there  was  lurking  some  danger, 

Unseen,  of  which  now  was  afraid. 

But  the  Stranger  had  finished  at  last, 
With  a  movement  abrupt  turned  to  Jean, 

To  whom  seemed  that  a  long  night  had  passed 
Since  he  had  at  the  desk  writing  been. 


52  JEAN  RIVARD 

From  his  eyes  black  as  jet  came  a  glow 

Which  strongly  impressed  Jean  with  fear, 
But  that  Jean  should  his  purpose  not  know, 

Softly  spoke,  as  his  chair  he  drew  near. 
That  he  must  a  strong  argument  make 

Lest  his  plans  should  be  soon  overthrown, 
From  Jean's  eyes  his  strange  orbs  did  not  take 

As  his  errand  to  him  he  made  known. 

"To  your  cottage  I  came  unexpected, 
"My  service  had  not  been  requested, 
"I  came  as  a  book  had  suggested. 

"Ever  willing  am  I  to  aid  those  in  despair, 
"Their  hopes  badly  shattered,  I  quickly  repair. 

"I  walk  side  by  side  with  the  high  and  the  low, 
"Same  to  me  is  the  palace  and  the  beggars'  dark  row. 

"Never  idle  am  I,  but  on  some  journey  bound, 

"From  the  head  prison-shorn  to  the  head  regal-crowned. 

"None  call  on  me  in  vain,  never  deaf  is  my  ear, 
"One  has  but  to  suggest  and  at  once  I  appear. 

"Those  who  my  counsel  heed  have  no  cause  for  regret, 
"All  their  sorrows  and  troubles  they  soon  do  forget. 

"What  now  preys  on  your  mind  is  to  me  clear  and  plaiu, 
"That  which  seemed  beyond  reach,  you  now  soon  can 
obtain. 


JEAN  RIVARD  33 

"Sometimes  in  man's  brain  dormant  lies, 
"That  which  he  cannot  well  analyze, 
"But  its  presence  can  never  disguise. 

"In  my  travels  do  I  often  find 

"Those  who  to  themselves  are  quite  blind, 

"Cannot  see  the  disease  in  their  mind. 

"Why  should  you  try  yourself  to  deceive, 
"Why  should  you,  here  alone,  sit  and  grieve, 
"Why  cannot  you  in  me  quite  believe? 

"Suppose  I  had  from  coming  refrained, 
"And  that  I  had  your  hand  not  restrained, 
"Would  you  thereby  have  anything  gained? 

"Suppose  you  had  done  as  intended, 
"And  your  own  lonely  life  soon  had  ended, 
"Upon  what  would  you  then  have  depended? 

"You  then  would  have  been  lost  forever, 
"By  that  act  alone,  you  could  never 
"Rejoin  that  which  your  own  hand  did  sever. 

"Over  this  has  man  long  argued  well, 
"If  exists  either  Heaven  or  Hell, 
"If  so  be,  there's  none  living  can  tell. 


34  JEAN  RIVARD 

"Take  that  which  you  can  and  be  sure, 
"That  which  you  can  grasp  fast  secure, 
"For  the  mind  that's  diseased  there's  no  cure. 

"In  the  morn  as  your  face  in  the  mirror  you  view, 
"You  will  say  to  yourself  'Can  this  thing  be  true? 
"  'I  see  not  Jean  Rivard,  but  an  old  man  made  new.' 

"One  condition  remains  which  I  now  will  define, 
"That  with  your  own  blood  this  compact  will  sign, 
"That  when  the  end  comes,  your  soul  will  be  mine." 

In  the  words  well  intoned  he  dispelled 

Any  doubts  that  remained  in  Jean's  mind, 
By  the  long  pointed  pen  that  he  held 

Would  ink  from  Jean's  wrist  quickly  find. 
Although  now  quite  benumbed  was  Jean's  brain, 

It  took  him  not  long  which  to  choose; 
It  seemed  he  could  everything  gain, 

Was  not  sure  he  would  anything  lose. 
Would  by  it  youth  regain 

If  the  offer  accepted, 
Would  an  old  man  remain 

If  the  offer  rejected. 

Left  alone,  going  mad,  could  not  there  longer  stay, 
So  he  chose  what  then  seemed  the  only  feasible  way. 
That  what  Jean  soon  did  sign,  he  scarcely  had  read, 
Had  taken  for  granted  all  the  Stranger  had  said. 
With  a  heart  diabolical, 
And  a  mind  psychological, 


JEAN  RIVARD  35 

Had  he  made  clear  to  Jean  what  had  seemed  most  illogical. 
By  words  vaguely  written, 
True  meaning  well  hidden, 

Jean  remembered,  too  late,  there  was  ONE  thing  for- 
bidden. 

Spoke  the  Stranger  again;  "Before  I  depart, 
Look  well  upon  what  will  be  burned  in  your  heart." 
And  there  stood  a  SOMETHING,  in  a  cloak  flaming  red, 
With  no  eyes,  but  two  holes  filled  with  live  coals  instead, 
From  his  head  grew  two  horns,  on  the  ground  hung  a  tail, 
With  no  feet,  but  two  hoofs,  his  legs  covered  with  mail, 
And  then  came  a  flash  with  a  deafening  roar, 
Senseless  and  blinded,  Jean  fell  to  the  floor. 

In  the  night's  darkest  hour,  which  precedes  the  morn, 
On  the  floor,  unattended,  a  new  Jean  was  born, 
With  the  face,  form  and  vigor,  of  a  twenty  year  youth, 
Had  no  lie  told  the  Stranger,  for  mirrors  speak  truth. 
For  France  and  his  Phillip,  Jean  departed  at  dawn, 
Left  the  cottage  unkempt,  with  curtains  undrawn, 
Had  forgotten  the  heart  long  under  the  sod, 
Knew  not  his  own  name,  remembered  no  God. 

Where  once  had  been  flowers 
Now  are  brambles  and  weeds, 

The  fruit  long  has  rotted, 

The  ground  covered  with  seeds. 

The  cottage  door  left  unlocked 
Has  swung  open  far  wide, 


36  JEAN  RIVARD 

Soon  the  birds,  unmolested, 

Will  their  nests  build  inside. 
All  the  stray,  homeless  dogs 

Who  before,  slinking  passed, 
Can  a  warm  shelter  find 

From  the  cold  winter  blast, 
And  the  cottage  in  which 

Little  Phillip  had  played, 
Ere  its  master  returns 

Will  have  long  been  decayed. 

End  of  Part  Four 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  FIVE 

Jean,  the  Soldier 
The  Hindu,  and  the  Crusader  Sword 


JEAN  RIVARD 


Jean  was  known  as  'The  Silent,'  to  talk  not  inclined, 

About  him  there  was  something  quite  strange,  undefined, 

Who,  aloof  from  the  rest,  had  in  his  quiet  way 

The  drills  fully  mastered  in  almost  a  day, 

An  order  once  given,  was  no  use  to  repeat, 

No  emergency  'rose  but  was  ready  to  meet, 

Quick  was  he  to  adapt,  as  one  to  the  life  born, 

Was  the  new  Jean  Rivard,  changed  in  name  and  in  form. 


It  was  as  John  Revor,  that  Jean  had  enlisted, 
In  the  choice  of  a  name  by  The  Stranger  assisted, 
For  Jean  it  were  better  it  should  be  somewhat  similar, 
So  he  chose  one  that  sounded  to  Jean  quite  familiar. 
His  Phillip  ne'er  dreamed,  never  knew  from  the  start, 
There  stood  one  in  the  ranks,  of  which  he  was  a  part. 
But  the  John  was  still  Jean,  and  could  scarcely  conceal 
What  the  one  who  had  named  him  had  forbade  him  reveal. 


In  the  compact  JEAN  signed,  he  had  not  understood 
He'd  remain  undisclosed,  or  that  instant  he  would 
Be  transformed  back  again  to  the  original  Jean, 
Far  removed  from  his  lad  with  wide  waters  between. 
The  words  which  to  Jean  at  the  time  were  not  plain 

39 


40  JEAN  RIVARD 

In  letters  of  fire  now  flashed  through  his  brain, 
By  a  master  of  guile  was  this  compact  well  drawn, 
It  was  Life's  game  of  chess,  with  Jean  as  the  pawn. 


Of  the  Hell  down  below  must  be  left  to  conception, 
What  it  can  be  on  earth  was  to  John  no  deception. 
Has  there  been  by  none  held  a  brush  that  could  picture 
What  no  mind  of  man  could  ever  conjecture — 
The  grief  most  acute  which  bowed  John  in  despair, 
Not  to  speak  to  his  lad,  touch  his  hand,  stroke  his  hair. 
In  this  plan  well  conceived, 

In  purport  not  defined, 
Was  the  plan  that  deceived 

A  plain  trusting  mind. 


Of  his  company's  men  was  there  one  quite  as  diffident, 
Who  by  birth,  creed  and  race,  was  from  John,  wholly 

different. 

In  John's  great  tribulation, 
He  then  sought  consolation 
Of  one  that  did  prove,  in  the  end,  his  salvation. 
Neither  one  friend  invited, 
Either  one  friend  resented, 

Alike,  yet  most  unlike,  a  strange  pair  presented. 
One  of  race  subjugated, 
The  other,  Hell-fated, 
Not  by  blood,  but  by  mind,  were  they  closely  related. 


JEAN  RIVARD  41 

John's  comrade,  a  Hindu,  was  a  lord  in  his  land, 
Who  as  soldier  now  served  with  the  Allied  command. 
Unknown  to  his  sword  were  there  no  lands  or  climes, 
In  each  had  in  battle  been  engaged  many  times. 
With  muscles  like  steel,  and  heart  of  a  child, 
The  keen  eye  of  a  hawk,  a  tongue  undefiled, 
Quick  to  strike  when  was  need,  to  anger  quite  slow, 
The  warmest  of  friends  or  the  bitterest  foe. 

Tall,  lean  and  swarthy,  and  most  supple  of  limb, 

He  seemed  made  for  the  sword,  not  the  sword  made  for 

him. 

His  skill  with  the  foils  was  a  wonder  to  see, 
As  he  took  them  by  one,  by  two,  and  by  three. 
Fascinated  John  stood,  longed  to  hold  in  his  hand 
The  other  foil  brought  from  the  far  Eastern  land. 
Of  John  asked  the  Hindu,  while  a  moment  he  rested, 
To  hold  the  foil's  mate,  John  the  challenge  accepted. 
As  he  then  faced  his  friend  through  his  arm  went  a  thrill, 
There  he  took  all  the  blows,  did  not  leave  off  until 
He'd  made  his  first  pass  as  he  broke  down  the  guard; 
He  would  soon  be  its  master,  there  was  naught  to  retard. 

So  adept  became  John,  and  so  eager  to  learn, 
Before  scarcely  he  knew  it,  found  it  easy  to  turn 
The  foil  ever  pointing  at  face  or  at  heart, 
Rejoiced  then  his  teacher,  for  with  him  'twas  an  art. 
He  was  glad  that  at  last  lived  a  man  that  could  stand 
'Gainst  the  sword  that  had  slashed  through  many  a  land, 
Which  he  kept  safely  guarded  from  all  prying  eyes, 
Lest  some,  not  too  honest,  might  covet  the  prize. 


42  JEAN  RIVARD 

A  Damasacus  it  was,  the  only  one  of  its  kind, 
And  the  acme  of  craft,  by  a  master  designed. 
Of  his  effort  supreme  he  left  no  duplicate. 
The  long  process,  by  which  only  he  could  create 
Such  a  master  piece  rare,  remained  ever  unknown, 
For  the  grave  which  is  dumb  holds  the  secret  alone. 
And  the  fame  of  that  city  since  his  day  has  declined, 
Those  who  there  dwell  are  not  of  a  sword-making  mind. 

The  guard  round  the  hilt  was  of  pure  beaten  gold, 

Its  surface  was  chased  and  with  strange  emblems  scrolled ; 

In  the  top  was  inserted  a  many-hued  stone, 

Such  as  few  in  the  East,  except  princes,  can  own. 

A  branch  from  the  tree  it  could  lop  off  with  ease, 

Tear  the  leaves  into  shreds  as  they  flew  with  the  breeze, 

Would  a  thin  paper  cut  when  tossed  upward  in  air, 

And  drawn  over  the  hand,  it  would  sever  a  hair. 

End  of  Part  Five 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  SIX 

The  Tale  the  Hindu  Told 


JEAN  RIVARD 


In  their  trenches  at  night 

The  Hindu  once  told  of  a  Prince  who  had  lived 

In  the  days  that  were  old. 

Who  an  army  maintained, 

And  vassals  beside;  in  his  stronghold  secure 

Other  Rajahs  defied. 

By  his  sword  filled  his  coffers 

With  silver  and  gold;  had  in  blood  waded  deep 

For  this  fortune  untold. 

And  the  many  rare  jewels 

That  he'd  gained  by  his  pelf,  did  exceed  the  ones  owned 

By  the  Mogul  himself. 

Though  his  heart  was  like  flint, 

Yet  most  keen  was  his  brain;  would  not  others  entrust 

With  his  ill-gotten  gain. 

So  a  chest  he  designed, 

By  his  slaves  was  it  made;  when  their  task  they  had  finished 

Underground  soon  they  laid. 

Made  of  steel  was  the  chest 

That  weighed  many  a  stone;  held  by  chains  to  the  floor, 

And  the  cover  alone 

Was  such  that  the  weight 

Took  the  two  hands  to  raise,  and  the  labor  thereon 

Had  consumed  many  days. 

45 


46  JEAN  RIVARD 

In  its  edge  was  a  knife, 

Long  and  keen,  hid  from  view;  of  its  presence  there  none, 

Save  the  Prince,  ever  knew. 

Held  by  weights  and  by  springs, 

When  wide  open  would  stand  quite  firm  and  secure, 

But  should  a  strange  hand 

Its  contents  disturb, 

Then  'twould  fall  with  a  crash,  and  the  hand  or  the  arm 

Now  caught  fast,  it  would  slash 

Like  the  bone  'neath  the  cleaver, 

By  a  blow  cut  in  twain;  there  were  none  that  escaped, 

There  were  none  tried  again. 

But  his  most  precious  gem 

Was  not  found  in  the  chest;  had  never  King  Solomon 

Its  like  e'er  possessed. 

A  Pearl  for  which  many 

A  prince  had  despaired;  Venus-formed,  ivory-skinned, 

Azure-eyed,  golden-haired. 

A  most  wondrous  creation 

Which  had  best  be  explained;  her  mother,  Circassian, 

As  the  'Beauty'  had  reigned. 

Swore  the  Prince,  by  Mahomet, 

When  her  time  came  to  wed,  by  a  king  would  his  daughter 

To  the  altar  be  led. 

To  the  Rajah,  one  day 

A  strange  courier  brought,  a  request  that  to  answer 

Required  deepest  thought. 

One  of  Germany's  kinglets 


JEAN  RIVARD  47 

To  the  Princess  aspired,  (had  an  eye  to  the  gold 

That  the  Prince  had  acquired.) 

But  the  Prince,  over-cautious, 

Was  to  haste  not  inclined,  bade  the  envoy  remain 

Till  he'd  made  up  his  mind. 

Took  into  his  castle 

This  knight,  never  dreaming,  that  with  tongue  smooth  as 

satin 
Was  a  brain,  ever  scheming. 

Of  his  own  father's  name 

His  mother  knew  not,  what  occurred  before  wedlock, 

For  convenience,  forgot. 

It's  more  tactful  at  times 

Not  to  rake  over-deep,  lest  the  nostrils  oifend 

By  the  over-ripe  heap. 

Without  name  or  fortune, 

Yet  was  that  in  his  mien,  could  no  woman  resist, 

Maid,  Princess,  or  Queen. 

The  proud  Rajah  cajoled, 

While  the  Princess  desired,  with  a  longing  that  came 

From  a  heart  foul-bemired. 

The  Prince  dared  not  take 

The  chest  key  to  the  field,  doubted  much  where  it  could 

Be  in  safety  concealed. 

Throughout  all  his  domain 

By  his  hand  most  defiled,  in  but  one  could  he  trust, 

The  young  Princess,  his  child. 

Whom  his  eunuchs  well  guarded 


48  JEAN  RIVARD 

By  day  and  by  night,  those  who  dared  her  approach 

Would  their  swift  doom  invite. 

To  her  girdle,  the  key 

Could  be  strongly  secured,  when  the  Prince  was  away 

Of  its  safety  assured. 


Of  the  hours  there  were  few 

When  the  Rajah  remained  at  rest  in  his  castle 

When  could  gold  be  obtained. 

In  the  saddle  he  soon 

Led  his  merciless  horde,  the  chest  to  replenish 

By  his  never-sheathed  sword. 

As  the  greed-eaten  Hun, 

Seeing  only  the  key,  chose  well  then  his  words, 

By  his  false  lips  had  he 

Seldom  failed  with  the  fair, 

There  were  many  could  tell,  by  his  serpent  eye  charmed, 

Who  had  listened  too  well. 


As  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  her  hand  gently  pressed, 
Not  of  her  were  his  thoughts,  but  the  great  treasure-chest. 
And  he  bided  his  time,  as  he  told  once  again 
What  to  maidens  will  ever  a  mystery  remain. 
So  well  did  she  pay 
For  this  innocent  bliss, 
Not  until  the  next  day 
Did  the  treasure  key  miss. 


JEAN  RIVARD  49 

When  the  castle  was  quiet, 

And  all  within  slept,  this  crown  and-rag  offspring 

To  the  vault  slowly  crept. 

Where  stood  the  great  chest 

With  its  jewels  most  rare,  in  their  size  and  in  lustre 

There  were  none  could  compare. 

With  the  key  in  the  lock 

He  made  a  quick  turn,  as  the  cover  uplifted 

His  eyes  seemed  to  burn 

As  though  had  been  thrust 

In  the  bright  noon-day  sun,  or  a  million  of  stars 

Which  in  truth  they  outshone. 

Stooping  over  the  chest 

It  was  first  one  he  took,  then  a  larger  one  chose, 

This  again  he  forsook 

For  another  more  brilliant, 

Ever  changing,  did  grieve,  that  in  gold  and  in  silver 

Would  a  king's  ransom  leave. 

Then  as  one  of  his  hands 

Both  of  which  were  inside,  in  its  greed  touched  the  spring 

That  the  jewels  now  hide, 

Swiftly  down  came  the  lid 

On  the  head  that  leaned  o'er,  it  remained  in  the  chest, 

Fell  his  trunk  to  the  floor. 

Ended  now  is  the  tale 
That  the  dark  Hindu  told, 
Of  a  race  that  has  ever 
Been  craving  for  gold. 


50  JEAN  RIVARD 

Those  who  survived  the  trench 
Still  relate  to  this  day 
What  he  there  at  night  told 
In  his  strange  Eastern  way. 

End  of  Part  Six 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  SEVEN 
Death  of  the  Hindu 


JEAN  RIVARD 


In  a  place  well  advanced,  near  the  land  oft  contested, 
Phillip  with  his  command,  half  equipped,  was  intrenching. 
Could  not  question  the  orders  from  the  colonel  command- 
ing, 

Who  had  to  that  sector  been  hastily  transferred, 
Why  he  should  be  there  placed  by  no  cannon  supported, 
What  to  him  seemed  a  blunder,  must  as  soldier  obey. 
To  hold  what  he  had  he  was  fully  determined, 
But  would  not  of  himself  his  own  men  sacrifice. 
Many  mines  he  now  laid,  by  fine  wire  connected, 
Which  could  be  in  an  instant  all  together  exploded. 

Were  his  efforts  repaid  sooner  than  he  had  reckoned, 
One  morn  saw  the  trenches  by  dense  fog  enveloped 
That  beyond  a  few  yards  could  not  eye  penetrate. 
Phillip  called  in  his  men,  and  stationed  the  outposts 
Within  the  small  area  that  by  mines  were  protected. 
By  all  was  it  known  that  inside  the  barbed  wire, 
Lay  hidden  and  dormant  what  could  be  quickly  awakened. 
Nothing  more  could  be  done,  but  wait  and  be  ready. 

'Gainst  the  trench,  most  terrific,  a  shell  fire  soon  opened, 
Many  hours  before  had  the  range  been  well  taken, 
The  pickets  came  running  and  in  the  trench  tumbled, 
Phillip  counted  them  all,  the  Hindu  was  missing. 

53 


54  JEAN  RIVARD 

In  the  mound  of  the  trench  was  a  large  stone  imbedded 
Which  now  by  the  shells  had  become  partly  loosened. 
When  the  next  one  would  strike  it,  was  John  closely 

watching, 
Soon  it  came  rolling  down  bringing  stones,  sand,  and 

gravel, 

Leaving  a  hole  such  as  one  could  well  crawl  through. 
To  this  end  of  the  trench,  had  been  one  slowly  moving, 
With  a  last  look  at  Phillip,  John  on  his  quest  started. 

Too  far  from  his  lines  had  a  Hun  patrol  ventured, 

In  the  earth  lying  cloud  had  lost  his  location, 

Lest  he  should  a  noise   make,   and   with   tread   doubly 

cautious, 

He  came  upon  him  who  was  the  other  way  facing. 
His  loud  speaking  gun  might  bring  swift  retribution, 
So  he  made  a  spring  forward  and  used  the  dumb  bayonet. 
More  than  quick  turned  the  Hindu,  and  the  Hun  started 

"Westward". 

With  eyes  bloodshot  and  bulging,  his  black  tongue  pro- 
truding, 

The  Hindu's  hand  on  his  throat,  it  was  thus  that  John 
found  them. 

John  felt  a  slight  heart-beat  as  he  loosened  the  fingers 
That  now  held  the  throat  with  a  grip  that  was  vise  like. 
On  his  shoulder  he  then  threw  his  near  lifeless  comrade, 
And  ran  with  his  burden  through  a  gauntlet  infernal. 
Not  a  moment  too  soon  had  the  two  reached  the  trenches, 
The  shelling  had  stopped,  and  all  knew  what  would  follow. 


JEAN  RIVARD  55 

By  the  hole  through  which  John  and  the  Hindu  had 

entered 

With  the  key  to  his  fingers,  there  stood  Phillip  waiting. 
By  the  sun's  warming  rays  was  now  the  fog  lifting, 
Disclosing  to  Phillip  all  inside  the  barbed  wire, 
The  first  Hun  that  crossed  it  would  to  him  be  the  signal, 
There  would  then  be  unloosened  Hell's  pent-up  artillery. 
Like  a  part  of  the  fog,  the  grey  Huns  came  running 
In  the  trench  unprotected,  they  soon  would  be  mopping, 
Most  courageous  were  they  when  massed  by  the  hundred, 
But  when  separated,  they  soon  cried  "Kamerad". 

To    those    in    the    trench    came    a    sound    more    than 

deafening, 

The  ground  rose  and  fell  like  a  violent  earthquake, 
Against  each  other  thrown,  they  fell  over  like  ten-pins, 
But  they  quickly  rebounded,  each  hand  to  its  rifle. 
Then  as  over  the  top  following  close  to  their  leader, 
To  the  very  last  man  were  they  sore  disappointed, 
Of  the  Huns  who  came  running,  there  were  none  now  left 

standing, 

Arms  and  legs,  trunks  and  heads,  there  lay  the  Hell- 
carrion. 

As  Phillip  requested,  John  remained  with  the  Hindu, 
To  a  short  breathing  spell  was  John  well  entitled, 
In  the  mud  and  in  shell  holes  had  he  often  fallen, 
But  the?  weight  scarcely  felt,  as  enraged  onward  struggled. 
Whom  the  blood  now  was  stanching,  to  him  spoke  the 
Hindu, 


56  JEAN  RIVARD 

"Oh,  lift  high  my  head  that  I  may  see  the  sunlight, 
"Let  me  not  lay  in  darkness,  for  my  eyes  are  bedimmed, 
"Listen  well  to  my  words  as  I  leave  you  my  fortune, 
"All  that  to  me  remains  of  what  once  I  possessed. 

"My  sole  treasure  well  guard,  for  it's  centuries  old, 
"It  was  torn  from  the  hand  of  a  Crusader  bold, 
"As  he  lay  cold  and  stiff  by  Jerusalem's  door, 
"With  his  feet  on  the  threshold  he  never  passed  o'er. 
"Of  his  name  we  know  not,  never  could  ascertain, 
"But  a  Monarch  he  died,  was  the  King  of  the  slain. 
"Handed  down  has  it  been  from  proud  father  to  son, 
"I  bequeath  it  to  you,  for  of  sons  have  I  none." 
Thus  the  brave  Hindu  died,  passed  away  was  the  man 
Who'd  been  John's  only  friend  since  the  Great    War 

began. 

Much  to  John  meant  the  gift  from  the  one  who  had  gone, 
What  the  Hindu  had  dropped,  John  would  still  carry  on. 

End  of  Part  Seven 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  EIGHT 

The  Croix  de  Guerre 


O'er  the  field  where  the  men  were  lined  up  at  parade 

Waved  the  Flag  which  they  proudly  had  borne, 
In  its  rags  floating  grandly,  this  Ensign  now  frayed,, 

Had  no  hand  of  the  Hun  touched  or  torn. 
This  Banner  of  Freedom  had  in  dust  never  trailed, 

Staunchly  held  by  brave  lads  from  o'er-seas, 
Their  own  Stars  and  Stripes  had  its  trust  never  failed, 

It  would  soon  force  the  Huns  to  their  knees. 

John's  comrades  in  mud-spotted  khaki  arrayed, 

Had  assembled  near  where  stood  the  band, 
And  the  name  of  the  air  which  that  morning  was  played, 

Was  the  flag  of  their  own  native  land. 
Then  as  John  past  them  marched  to  the  General's  tent, 

Knowing  not  did  this  honor  deserve, 
At   command   the   long   ranks   brought   their   arms   to 
"present" 

Due  all  those  who  their  country  best  serve. 

Of  those  that  were  present  were  many  that  day 

Who  now  envied  this  three  months'  recruit, 
To  have  been  in  his  shoes  would  have  served  without 

pay, 

For  "The  Silent"  had  earned  their  salute. 

59 


60  JEAN  RIVARD 

By  the  General  standing  was  also  his  aide, 
What  he  held  could  by  few  be  possessed, 

The  small  shining  quadrant  which  he  there  displayed 
Was  more  envied  than  title  or  crest. 

John  had  come  to  a  halt,  at  attention  there  stood 

And  saluted  the  one  in  command, 
Until  spoke  the  General,  had  wondered  who  would 

Wear  the  cross  that  now  lay  in  his  hand. 
"To  LIEUTENANT  Revor,  who  as  soldier  has  shown 

"That  the  ranks  cannot  well  spare  this  loss, 
"This  commission  is  granted  for  merit  alone, 

"For  bravery,  is  given  the  cross." 

John  was  taken  aback,  his  commission  had  won, 

And  the  coveted  great  "Croix  de  Guerre" 
Since  he  as  a  soldier  plain  duty  had  done, 

Both  the  cross  and  the  bars  could  he  wear. 
But  his  wits  soon  returned,   as   a  thought  chilled   his 
heart, 

He  could  not  there  remain  as  before, 
As  an  officer  soon  from  his  Phillip  would  part. 

Answered  John  to  him  who  ranked  the  Corps, 

"The  high  honor  conferred  is  refused  with  respect, 

"For  I  crave  neither  glory  nor  fame, 
"This  great  offer  is  one  that  I  should  not  accept, 
"As  no  officer's  rank  do  I  claim. 


JEAN  RIVARD  61 

"But  I  make  this  request,  in  the  ranks  to  remain, 
"Where  had  well  served  the  Hindu,  the  brave, 

"The  sword  he  once  held,  allow  me  to  retain, 
"Which  he,  passing  out,  to  me  gave." 

As  the  General's  keen  eye  John  closely  did  scan, 

It  seemed  he  had  seen  him  before, 
This  soldier  who  spurned  the  greatest  honor  to  man, 

To  some  one  a  strong  likeness  bore. 
Since  there  happened  each  day  many  things  more  than 
strange, 

For  the  present  would  grant  his  request, 
On   the   morrow,    perhaps,   this   man's   mind   he   could 
change, 

He  then  pinned  the  small  cross  to  John's  breast. 

From  the  locker  in  which  it  had  been  safely  stored, 

John  took  out  the  dead  Hindu's  keen  blade, 
By  the  length  of  his  arm  he  now  measured  the  sword, 

Grasped  it  firm  where  the  stone  was  inlaid. 
And  it  made  a  queer  hiss  as  it  cut  through  the  air, 

Music  sweet  was  this  song  without  word, 
In  its  high-pitched  refrain  did  a  strange  message  bear, 

To  its  rhythm  John  practised  the  sword. 

End  of  Part  Eight 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  NINE 

'Tis  reveille,  and  another  day 
What  Jean  heard  in  the  trenches 
Jean  with  Phillip  in  the  hospital 


JEAN  RIVARD 


'Tis  reveille,  and  another  day, 

But  no  bugle  blast  is  heard, 
The  men  are  roused  in  a  safer  way, 

By  touch  and  shake  and  whispered  word. 
An  order  is  now  passed  around, 

"Send  up  reserves  without  delay," 
And  the  drowsy  lads  on  the  rain-soaked  ground, 

Prepare  themselves  for  another  day, 
'Tis  reveille,  and  another  day. 

'Tis  the  hour  of  noon  but  no  halt  is  made, 

There's  no  limit  to  what  these  men  can  stand, 
Too  long  already  had  been  delayed 

By  the  gluey  mud  of  Flanders'  land. 
They  gritted  their  teeth  as  they  shifted  their  pack 

With  but  one  thought,  to  each  mind  clear, 
That  no  power  on  earth  could  hold  them  back 

Till  they'd  make  the  Hun  pay  doubly  dear 
Before  reveille  of  another  day. 

The  sun  has  set,  and  the  tired  band 
Had  exacted  the  toll,  most  dearly  paid, 

And  they  rest  on  their  guns  on  the  slimy  land, 
Of  nothing  that  walks,  nor  of  the  Devil  afraid. 

For  they  held  their  own  in  this  Hell's  affray, 

65 


66  JEAN  RIVARD 

As  the  enemy  fled  there  was  one  long  shout, 
(Score  this  as  the  end  of  a  perfect  day) 

"Taps  have  sounded,  your  damned  lights  will  be  out 
"Before  reveille  of  another  day." 

'Tis  reveille,  of  another  day, 

And  the  roll  call  is  now  heard. 
There's  Tom,  and  Jack,  but  Bill's  away, 

There  comes  no  answering  word. 
The  sergeant  paused  as  he  looked  around, 

Then  slowly  read  to  the  end  of  the  list, 
There  were  many  who  slept  on  the  blood-soaked  ground, 

Leaving  those  who  the  touch  of  their  elbow  missed 
At  reveille,  of  another  day. 

Now  John  by  this  time  had  grown  calloused  and  hard, 

Did  suffering  and  pain  with  indifference  regard, 

In  the  loss  of  his  friend,  and  from  Phillip  estranged, 

John's  once  simple  nature  had  been  greatly  changed. 

Each  day  in  the  trench  was  there  one  item  more 

Making  still  larger  the  already  long  score. 

When  the  time  came  for  settling,  he  would  full_  payment 

ask, 

What  laid  in  his  locker, 
Would  make  easy  the  task. 

The  small  daily  bickerings  John  seemed  not  to  hear, 
To  this  idle  talk  deaf,  but  he  had  a  quick  ear 
For  the  tales  that  were  true,  yet  most  hard  to  believe. 
Only  Huns,  Hell-inspired, 


JEAN  RIVARD  67 

Crimes  so  base  could  conceive. 

Of  the  babes  that  were  found  piled  up  high  in  a  heap, 

Who  had  cried  for  their  milk  till  kind  death  brought  them 

sleep, 

The  children  they'd  killed  on  the  way  to  their  school, 
And  the  horrors  that  changed 
The  bright  lad  to  a  fool. 


Of  young  virgins  compelled  by  the  bayonet  thrust 

To  choose  either  death,  or  submit  to  their  lust, 

The  infirm,  sick,  and  aged,  that  were  forced  by  the  guns 

To  march  well  in  advance  of  the  cowardly  Huns. 

Made  drunk  from  babes'  blood  and  insane  in  their  hate, 

More  than  this  had  they  done,  deeds  too  foul  to  relate. 

Led  on  by  their  master,  who  did  each  carnage  plan, 

And  was  Satan,  himself,  in  the  guise  of  a  man. 


Of  the  red-handed  Huns,  in  the  trench  it  was  said, 

Had  been  hatched  in  the  slimes  of  pools  stagnant  and 

dead, 

Then  with  torch  lit  in  Hades,  and  held  waving  high 
Were  they  belched  from  the  pits  of  their  own  infamy. 
More  foul  than  the  scum  from  the  cauldrons  of  Hell, 
But  one  thing  to  their  credit, 
THEY  DID  THEIR  WORK  WELL. 
John  heard  all  they  said,  in  his  brain  was  it  stored, 
He  then  opened  his  locker, 
And  began  whetting  his  sword. 


68  JEAN  RIVARD 

What   John    long   had   suppressed,    now   could    hardly 

restrain, 

As  he  whetted,  then  polished,  now  whetted  again, 
For  each  spot  he  removed,  there  was  added  a  curse 
That  the  sulphurous  lake  would  their  black  souls  im- 
merse, 

In  fires  eternal  might  their  bodies  be  thrust, 
Their  tongues  become  parched,   and  caked  over   with 

dust. 
They  would  then  crave  for  what  the  poor  babes  had 

implored, 

It  was  not  the  old  Jean 
Who  was  whetting  the  sword. 

It  so  happened  one  day,  that  a  fragment  of  shell, 
With  a  force  but  half  spent,  into  Phillip's  trench  fell, 
And  but  for  his  helmet  which  its  course  did  deflect, 
Would  have  torn  down  a  structure  that  no  man  could 

erect. 

John  sprang  to  his  lad  and  the  helmet  removed 
To  search  for  the  wound;   on  the  temple  was  grooved 
The  path  of  the  shell  that  had  just  missed  the  brain, 
A  small  inch  had  divided 
The  quick  from  the  slain. 

To  the  base  hospital,  far  removed  to  the  rear, 
Many  miles  from  the  front  where  no  wounded  could  hear 
The  screams  of  the  shells  as  they  burned  through  the  air, 
Did  the  ambulance  filled,  o'er  the  roads  swiftly  tear. 


JEAN  RIVARD  69 

For  John,  though  not  wounded,  had  with  Phillip  re- 
mained, 

He  held  his  lad's  hand,  and  the  tears  unrestrained 

Could  not  dim  the  bright  light  that  from  John's  eyes  now 
shone, 

After  many  long  months, 

He  was  holding  his  own. 

As  the  surgeon  in  charge  now  examined  the  wound 
He  looked  grave  and  concerned  when  quickly  he  found 
The  skull  badly  fractured,  must  at  once  be  trephined, 
It  was  the  last  resort  which  might  save  the  lad's  mind. 
With  hand  quick  and  firm,  such  as  this  case  required, 
Was  for  him  just  the  one  that  he  long  had  desired. 
When  John  asked  to  remain,  to  the  Chief  was  referred, 
John  belonged  to  the  trench, 
And  trained  men  were  preferred. 

John  presented  himself  to  the  Surgeon-in-Chief, 
Whose  force,  near  exhausted,  was  demanding  relief, 
Of  him  asked,  as  a  nurse,  if  he  could  be  assigned 
To  the  hospital  tent  where  a  friend  was  confined. 
As  the  overworked  Chief,  by  emergency  pressed, 
Could  not  then  better  do,  granted  John  his  request. 
At  once  wrote  an  order  by  which  John  was  retained, 
A  small  lie  John  had  told, 
But  his  object  was  gained. 

In  this  race  against  Time,  with  a  life  for  the  goal, 

In  this  fight  for  a  mind  which  might  yet  be  made  whole, 


70  JEAN  RIVARD 

In  this  battle,  in  which  Phillip  then  had  no  share, 
Over  all  was  the  Victor,  who  had  laid  the  brain  bare. 
'Gainst  the  scythe,  bright  and  keen,  was  science  then 

pitted, 

But  knife  and  scalpel,  the  Grim  Reaper  outwitted. 
All  he  needed  was  care,  for  full  well  had  they  learned 
That  the  scale  of  the  balance 
By  a  hair  might  be  turned. 


The  surgeons  were  pleased  that  on  this  man  could  depend 
As  they  closely  watched  John  who  did  Phillip  attend, 
Bathed  his  face,  sponged  his  lips,  smoothed  the  thick 

tangled  hair, 
Stayed  the  hand  that  in  frenzy  tried  the  bandage  to 

tear, 
Turned  the  pillows  o'er  and  o'er,  'neath  the  fever-burned 

head, 
Spread  the  sheets,  changed  the  pads,   re-arranged  the 

hard  bed, 

Once  before  for  his  babe,  John  had  long  vigils  kept, 
Once  again  there  were  days 
When  he  ate  not  nor  slept. 


Phillip  tossed  on  his  bed,  through  his  brain  madly  raced 
All  his  life's  petty  trifles  which  had  long  been  effaced. 
Of  his  first  day  at  school  and  the  quaint  little  maid 
Who  his  apples  had  shared  as  they  barefooted  played. 
Then  it  was  of  the  one  who  had  stood  at  the  gate, 


JEAN  RIVARD  71 

And  like  all  mothers  worried  when  her  boy  returned  late. 
Then  he  spoke  of  one  near  whom  his  eyes  did  not  know, 
Who  to  him  had  been  all 
In  the  long,  long  ago. 

As  John  his  hand  passing  o'er  the  lad's  fevered  brow 
Ceased  were  the  long  ramblings,  it  seemed  as  if  now 
Over  him  was  change  coming,  for  a  moment  was  still, 
"The  hand  of  my  father,"  had  these  words  tried  to  fill 
The  empty  heart  aching  for  this  message  of  cheer. 
But  it  was  transient  only,  soon  again  did  John  hear 
The  mad  cries  and  ravings  of  a  shell-battered  brain, 
With  flood  gates  well  open, 
Could  nothing  remain. 

When  John  heard  these  few  words,  he  that  moment  forgot 
He  was  tied  more  secure  than  a  Gordian  knot. 
Without  further  delay,  his  true  self  would  disclose 
To  his  lad,  who  exhausted,  had  now  sunk  in  repose. 
Then  John  felt  a  touch,  quickly  turned  was  his  head, 
There  stood  one  which  caused  John  to  move  nearer  the 

bed. 

John  well  recollected,  from  his  lips  came  a  curse, 
Such  as  none  in  the  trenches 
Had  ever  heard  worse. 

At  the  impotent  words  the  Stranger  then  laughed, 

And   remarked,    "You   shall   now   drink   a   most   bitter 

draught, 
"Think  but  for  a  second  and  your  mind  soon  will  change, 


72  JEAN  RIVARD 

"In  the  compact  you  signed,  did  my  plans  well  arrange, 
"For  the  instant  you  call  the  sick  lad  there  your  son, 
"To  your  own  lonely  cottage  has  your  journey  begun." 
With  right  hand  to  left  side,  John  another  curse  roared, 
He  had  left  in  his  locker 
The  Crusader  sword. 

But  all  things  have  an  end,  the  time  came  when  again 
Were  there  no  clouds  hanging  over  Phillip's  worn  brain. 
In  his  eyes  there  was  absent  the  cold  vacant  stare, 
And  the  surgeon  well  knew  it  was  due  to  John's  care. 
Did  not  know  then  that  in  the  sick  lad  and  the  man 
From  their  hearts  through  their  veins,  the  same  blood 

freely  ran. 
Though  the  skill  he  had  shown  had  brought  well-deserved 

fame, 

This  passed  on  to  him 
Who  had  much  better  claim. 

Phillip  now  wore  the  bars  of  the  next  higher  grade, 
At  the  General's  request  had  a  captain  been  made, 
With  his  men,  waited  orders  near  a  spot  God-forsaken 
Which  had  often  changed  hands,  by  the  Huns  last  re- 
taken. 

Like  a  hound  at  the  leash,  he  did  now  fret  and  chafe, 
To  get  back  at  the  Huns  with  their  damnable  "Strafe." 
And  the  locker  John  used  had  been  robbed  of  its  hoard, 
Where  John  ate,   walked,   or  slept,   was  the  Crusader 
sword. 


JEAN  RIVARD  73 

That  of  which  John  had  dreamed,  at  last  had  come  true, 

He  now  soon  would  collect  the  bill  long  overdue, 

For  the  great  General's  mind  which  appeared  to  know  all 

Phillip's  feat  with  the  mines  did  this  moment  recall. 

As  he  placed  him  in  charge  more  than  thrice  his  command 

To  drive  back  the  Hell-spawned  o'er  their  blood-sodden 

land. 

Phillip  wondered  why  John,  while  all  the  rest  cheered, 
Had  alone  remained  silent  and  abstracted  appeared. 
John  was  then  thinking  how  his  friend's  last  words  had 

ended, 

'.'From  proud  father  to  son  the  great  sword  had  des- 
cended." 

What  would  be,  could  not  change,  even  had  he  so  willed, 
Perhaps  that  day  would  see  the  tradition  fulfilled. 

End  of  Part  Nine 


JEAN  RIVARD 


PART  TEN 

Just  a  Slip  of  a  Lad 

The  Great  Battle 

Jean,  Phillip  and  the  Devil 

The  Duel  between  Phillip  and  the  Devil 

Death  of  Jean 


JEAN  RIVAKD 


Just  a  slip  of  a  lad, 

As  he  marched  his  men  towards  "No  Man's  Land/' 
Tall,  bearded  men  who  had  been  there  before, 
Who  had  jested  with  Death  in  Hell's  abode. 
For  the  trenches  were  such  as  tried  men's  souls, 
And  their  hearts  went  out  to  their  leader  pale, 
Who  had  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  yawning  grave, 
Hardly  fit  for  the  task 
Was  this  slip  of  a  lad. 

Just  a  slip  of  a  lad, 

In  the  cold  wet  trenches  of  "No  Man's  Land." 
No  sound  is  now  heard  but  the  shrieking  shells 
As  they  burst  and  scatter  their  murderous  hail. 
Bronzed  faces  blanch,  for  they've  been  there  before, 
And  the  ribald  jest  is  that  morning  unheard. 
For  the  jaws  of  Hell  are  opened  wide, 
And  are  waiting  to  snap 
At  this  slip  of  a  lad. 

Just  a  slip  of  a  lad 

As  he  formed  his  men  for  the  coming  charge 
And  counted  those  off  with  the  hand-grenades. 
Detailing  each  man  to  the  place  he  best  fitted, 

77 


78  JEAN  RIVARD 

Well  every  man  knew  what  of  him  was  expected. 
Nearly  all  of  them  had  in  a  like  place  been  before, 
There  was  no  man  but  thought  this  day  might  his  last  be 
Much  there  now  does  depend 
On  their  slip  of  a  lad. 


Just  a  slip  of  a  lad, 

As  he  made  his  last  round,  and  looked  in  each  eye. 

Unwavering  they  stood  with  their  cold  shining  steel, 

Held  by  arms  that  had  never  been  shaken  by  fear. 

'Tis  a  place  where  quick  brain  against  tall  stature  wins, 

'Tis  a  time  when  a  man  in  an  hour  grows  old, 

'Tis  a  day  when  the  life  of  a  nation's  at  stake, 

Now  had  come  the  great  moment 

For  this  slip  of  a  lad. 


"Follow  me,"  Phillip  cried,  as  he  led  the  attack, 

"We  are  here,"  answered  they,  who  now  stood  at  his 

back. 

Then  as  John  cleared  the  top,  from  his  lips  came  a  yell. 
That  was  heard  'bove  the  voice  of  the  rifle  or  shell. 
Which  he  did  oft  repeat 

In  that  hand  to  hand  fray, 
Drowned  the  call  for  retreat 

When  their  best  on  ground  lay, 
Saved  them  all  from  defeat 
On  that  memorable  day. 


JEAN  RIVARD  79 

Like  an  Argus-eyed  Samson,  guarding  Phillip,  his  son, 
John  was  Athos,  and  Porthos,  and  Aramis  in  one. 
In  John's  reincarnation, 
Of  some  long  dead  relation, 

Was  embodied  the  spirit  of  Joan  of  Arc's  nation. 
For  John,   true   American,   from   the   French   had   des- 
cended, 
And  in  Phillip,  his  lad,  was  the  Allied  blood  blended. 


Flame-spitting, 

Brain-hitting,  was  his  gun,  Huns  quick  dropping, 

Blood-spilling, 

Swift-killing,  was  his  sword,  Huns  quick  stopping. 

Death-daring, 

None-sparing,  an  Apollyon  advancing, 

Yell-hearing, 

Death-fearing,  backed  the  Huns,  faces  blanching. 


Thrusting  hard   for   his   heart   at  one  time    there    were 

four, 
But  he  stepped  o'er  them   all,   none  there  could  hold 

before 

The  dead  weight  of  his  gun,  or  the  Crusader  sword, 
As  he  struck, 

as  he  stabbed, 

as  he  slashed, 

as  he  bored. 


80  JEAN  RIVARD 

By  the  bayonet  unbending, 

Or  the  butt  end  descending, 

To  where  they  belonged,  now  was  John  the  Huns  sending. 

With  the  sword  in  his  left, 

And  the  gun  in  his  right, 
Fought  he  as  only  one 

Damned  eternal  would  fight. 

Back  to  back  to  his  Phillip,  as  the  two  stood  at  bay, 

John  had  singled  a  Hun  slowly  working  his  way 

To  get  next  to  his  lad,  and  then  from  John's  tongue 

Came  a  torrent  unchecked  of  the  mind  now  unstrung. 

"Take  from  me,  John  Revor, 

What  to  you,  ends  the  war," 

John  yelled,  as  he  thrust,  and  so  sure  was  the  aim 

That  the  Hun  backward  fell  where  he  lay  with  the  slain. 

By  the  new  broken  bayonet,  firmly  pinned  to  the  ground, 

From  the  Babe-killer's  lips  came  a  guttural  sound 

Which  was  borne  to  John's  ears 

Through  the  din  of  the  battle, 

Not  for  long  had  John  waited 

For  the  well-known  death-rattle. 

Was  awakened  at  last 

The  long  sleeping  volcano, 
Levelling  all  in  its  blast, 

The  wide  sweeping  tornado. 
The  gun  irresistible, 
The  long  sword  invincible, 
Ear-piercing,  far-reaching, 


JEAN  RIVARD  81 

The  yell,  more  than  terrible, 

With  the  butt  of  his  rifle,  which  was  now  soaked  in  blood, 
Cracked  the  skulls  open  wide,  with  a  sickening  thud, 
John  heard  not  their  cries  as  he  over  them  trod, 
War-demented, 
Heaven- watched, 
Not  forgotten  by  God. 

By  their  brave  John  inspired,  the  outnumbered  band 
Pushed  the  Hell- vermin  back  o'er  their  corpse-rotting 
land. 


Crimson  red,  was  the  ground 

Thickly  strewn  with  grey  Huns, 
Only  dead  were  there  found 

Near  their  now  silent  guns. 

This  great  battle,  in  which  blood  like  water  did  flow, 
This  dearly  won  battle, 
This  sword  and  gun  battle, 
Was  THE  battle  by  which  John  Revor  was  laid  low. 


On  the  shell-burrowed  field,  near  the  noon  of  that  day, 
By  the  flying  shrapnel,  John  Revor  wounded  lay. 
The  brave  ambulance  corps 

In  this  carnage  appalling, 
Had  a  short  time  before 

Passed  to  those  for  aid  calling. 
John  remembered  not  them,  either  war,  sword,  or  gun, 


82  JEAN  RIVARD 

All  alike  were  to  him,  whether  Allied  or  Hun. 
Forgotten,  had  he,  as  to  why  he  there  laid, 
But  he  then  well  recalled 
HIM  to  whom  he  once  prayed. 

"Oh,  God,"  cried  poor  John,  "grant  me  now  this  small 

boon, 

"As  I  was  when  he  left,  let  me  speak  to  my  son." 
Ere  the  words  left  his  lips,  when  as  though  from  the  air, 
The  soul-cry  expecting,  the  Stranger  stood  there. 
"Call  you  not  upon  God,  do  not  try  to  defy, 
"It's  a  name  that's  forbidden  while  yet  I  stand  by. 
"For  the  compact  we  made  will  be  ended  this  day, 
"The  debt  is  now  due, 
"And  with  interest  you'll  pay." 

It  must  have  been  pity,  better  yet,  might  have  been 
That  the  ONE  who  knows  all  had  this  meeting  foreseen, 
Wished  to  curb  Satan's  pride,  and  thus  teach  him  his 

place. 

Of  this  none  did  there  know,  but  over  John's  face 
Came  quickly  a  change,  and  his  hair,  black  as  night, 
In  that  moment  was  turned  to  a  silvery  white, 
And  there  on  the  ground  lay  the  brave  JEAN  RIVARD, 
Instead  of  an  Angel 
The  Devil  on  guard. 

Jean  the  Devil  ignored,  and  the  word  he  forbade 

Was  shrieked,  "Oh,  my  God,  send  me  Phillip,  my  lad." 

Phillip  seemed  as  one  dazed,  as  the  name  reached  his  ear, 


JEAN  RIVARD  83 

Was  in  doubt  if  the  battle  had  left  his  mind  clear. 
From  his  father  had  come  this  loud  wail  of  distress 
That  was  torn  from  the  heart  in  its  greatest  duress. 
With  a  leap  cleared  the  trench  as  his  sword  he  held  bare, 
Would  have  jumped  into  Hell 
Had  the  call  come  from  there. 


O'er  the  brave  Jean  Rivard,  a  Stranger  there  stood, 
With  a  look  on  his  face  that  foreboded  no  good, 
Where  should  have  been  pity,  now  instead  was  a  leer, 
And  his  thin  cruel  lips  were  incurved  with  a  sneer. 
Who  stepped  forward  a  pace  as  he  made  a  half  turn, 
So  that  Phillip,  advancing,  would  not  quickly  discern 
That  the  man  lying  there  was  the  one  that  had  cried 
To  his  God,  for  his  Phillip, 
And  the  Devil  defied. 


Phillip  gripped  firm  his  sword,  the  words  came  hard  and 

fast, 

"How  have  you  without  uniform  the  double  guard  passed? 
"There  are  base  traitors  here,  and  I  swear  to  my  God, 
"Soon   with   you   will   they   stand   'fore   the   sure-firing 

squad. 
"If  my  surmise  is  correct 

"You  are  naught  but  a  spy, 
"Give  today's  countersign 
"Or  you  will  like  a  dog  die." 


84  JEAN  RIVARD 

"You  that  here  doth  command,  now  your  anger  restrain, 
"For  this  man  that's  near  death  can  better  explain 
"Why  I  should  here  stand  without  arms  or  war  garb, 
"In  my  tongue  is  my  sword,  and  most  keen  is  its  barb. 
"I  no  countersign  have,  and  none  do  I  need, 
"No  guards,  locks,  or  bars,  can  my  movements  impede. 
"So  blame  not  the  sentry,  in  your  judgment  be  slow, 
"There  were  none  saw  me  come, 
"There  will  none  see  me  go." 


With  a  feeling  unknown,  much  akin  to  dismay, 
In  an  instant  was  Phillip,  where  the  wounded  man  lay, 
He  well  knew  the  form,  with  the  silver  crowned  head, 
The  hand,  that  so  carefully  his  first  steps  had  led, 
The  plain  honest  face,  with  the  lines  creased  by  care, 
Only  one,  could  it  be,  who  at  Death  now  does  stare. 
Quickly  there  Phillip  knelt,  upraised  then  Jean's  head, 
Listened  close  to  his  lips 
For  the  words  faintly  said. 


"Embrace  me,  dear  son,  and  my  hand  tightly  clasp, 
"Oh,  press  harder  yet,  that  I  may  feel  the  grasp 
"Of  your  warm  loving  hands,  and  I  now  will  lay  bare 
"The  deed  that  was  done  while  in  greatest  despair. 
"Know  then,  my  dear  lad,  when  your  mother  we  lost 
"And  by  faith  alone  buoyed,  she  the  dark  river  crossed, 
"Was  there  taken  from  us  to  replace  which  were  none, 
"Left  to  me  to  well  finish  that  which  she  had  begun. 


.JEAN  RIVARD  85 

"From  the  day  of  your  birth  had  the  dear  heart  desired, 
"Capped  and  gowned  of  your  college,  would  she  see  you 

attired, 

"Ever  guided  by  her  who  had  gone  on  before, 
"Of  what  I  then  tried,  there  were  none  could  do  more. 
"Then  as  older,  and  taller,  and  stronger  you  grew, 
"And  unconscious  released  what  was  latent  in  you, 
"Although  long  seemed  the  road,  yet  I  well  saw  the  end, 
"You  some  day  would  preside  where  you  once  did  attend. 

"When  in  years  came  The  War,  and  you  held  fast  my 

hand, 

"Perhaps  for  the  last,  ere  you  sailed  for  the  land 
"To  which  many  had  gone,  from  which  few  might  return, 
"The  blood  froze  in  my  veins,  it  was  then  I  did  learn 
"You  were  all  of  my  life,  and  my  God  soon  defied, 
"With  Satan  then  bargained,  so  could  fight  by  your  side. 
"Was  by  him  changed  in  form,  as  well  as  in  name, 
'But  my  mind  and  my  heart  remained  ever  the  same. 
"In  one  thing  am  content,  knowing  well  as  we  part, 
"That  some  day,  you  again  will  be  near  the  dear  heart, 
"Say  to  her,  my  brave  lad,  that  in  his  last  distress, 
"Her  Jean  thought  of  but  three, 
"God,  Phillip,  and  Jess." 

Jean's  breath  came  in  gasps,  and  his  hands  now   were 

cold, 

In  the  glaze  of  the  eyes  there  was  plainly  foretold 
That  the  end  now  was  near,  which  might  yet  be  delayed, 
For  Phillip  while  kneeling,  had  silently  prayed 


86  JEAN  RIVARD 

That  for  but  one  short  hour 
Might  the  end  be  deferred, 

By  his  sword  then  would  cancel  the  debt  Jean  had  in- 
curred. 

Phillip  sobbed  like  a  child  as  a  tear  unchecked  ran 
Down  the  cheek,  once  of  Jean, 
But  now,  Superman. 


Phillip  pulled  off  his  coat  and  a  soft  pillow  made, 

His  dear  father's  head  thereon  tenderly  laid, 

And  then  turned  to  the  Devil,  who  patiently  stood 

Awaiting  Jean's  death,  soon  to  be,  when  he  could 

With  his  treasure  depart, 

For  a  trophy  so  rare 

Was  well  worth  the  while,  many  hours  could  he  spare. 

Of  the  souls  that  he'd  snared,  now  engulfed  in  his  mire, 

They  were  naught  to  the  one  that  he  soon  would  acquire. 


"Round  the  world's  greatest  girth,  or  from  far  pole  to 

pole, 

"You  will  search  long  in  vain  for  another  such  soul, 
"For  this  man  at  my  feet  whose  hard  race  is  near  run, 
"There's  no  greater  honor  than  to  be  known  as  his  son. 

'Twas  for  me  that  he  made  this  Supreme  Sacrifice, 
"A  gold  crown  he  should  wear  in  God's  bright  Paradise. 
"As  his  son,  and  a  soldier,  this  challenge  I  make, 
"We  will  fight  to  the  death,  and  should  our  swords  break, 


JEAN  RIVARD  87 

"Then  to  pistols  we'll  turn,  and  may  God  hold  my  hand 
"To  direct  well  my  aim,  for  you'll  die  where  you  stand. 
"My  soul  is  the  forfeit,  if  the  battle  you've  won, 
"If  not,  both  go  free,  it  is  two  souls  or  none." 


Satan  pondered  a  moment,  then  answered  "  'Tis  well, 
"Both  you  and  your  father  will  sojourn  in  Hell, 
"Yonder  soul  is  my  own,  none  can  now  cheat  my  due, 
"I  came  for  one  only,  I  shall  go  back  with  two. 
"Leave  your  blade  where  'tis  sheathed,  for  you  surely 

will  die, 

"In  the  art  of  the  sword,  the  world's  master  am  I. 
"It's  not  often  to  foolish  diversions  I  bend, 
"But  my  time's  well  repaid  if  so  by  I  can  send 
"An  unwilling  soul  to  my  regions  below, 
"To  languish  eternal  in  unutterable  woe, 
"Draw  then  if  you  will,  let  us  brook  no  delay, 
"Those  who  my  time  consume,  in  the  end  fully  pay." 


With  a  nonchalant  air,  he  picked  up  from  the  ground 
What  had  once  graced  the  hand  of  a  monarch  uncrowned. 
No  novice  is  he,  bending  back  the  long  blade 
Of  what  was  well  said,  no  apprentice  had  made. 
This  pastime  well  relished,  for  unknown  to  the  lad 
His  heart  safely  guarding,  was  in  mail  partly  clad. 
For  Satan,  as  Man,  when  he  roams  o'er  the  land, 
Not  IMMORTAL  is  he,  does  with  Man  equal  stand. 


88  JEAN  RIVARD 

(For  the  Ever-just  God  long  ago  did  ordain 
That  he  no  advantage  over  man  would  obtain. 
In  that  Satan  when  he  did  a  Man's  form  assume, 
Like  Man,  suffered  pain,  was  from  death  not  immune. 
All  who  on  earth  walked,  was  there  no  one  exempted, 
To  Satan  himself  was  no  privilege  extended. 
That  must  HE  over  Satan  a  strong  rein  ever  hold, 
Unbridled,  would  Satan  the  whole  world  have  controlled.) 


Answered  Phillip,  "The  sword  by  your  hand  desecrated 
"Will  not  turn  'gainst  the  one  soon  to  die  consecrated. 
"Should  my  trusted  sword  break,  and  cannot  my  heart 

shield, 

"Or  the  bullet  flies  wild,  even  then  will  not  yield 
"Till  my  blood  soaks  the  sand  where  my  dear  father  lies, 
"On  the  hard  bed  from  which  he  will  never  arise. 
"For  his  son  did  a  father  place  himself  in  your  power, 
"By  his  son  be  released,  this  now  is  MY  hour." 


Replied  Satan  to  Phillip,  as  with  uplifted  hand, 
He  waved  toward  the  one  who  there  laid  on  the  sand, 
"By  the  powers  I  hold,  which  are  quite  well  defined, 
"To  my  presence  do  oft  make  the  seeing  world  blind. 
"Which  I  now  will  extend,  so  to  cover  we  three, 
"On  this  small  plot  of  ground  shall  no  strange  witness  be. 
"From  your  men  in  the  trench  must  ourselves  well  con- 
ceal, 
"They  would  rush  to  your  aid  at  the  first  clash  of  steel. 


JEAN  RIVARD  89 

"Except  to  your  father,  who  there  wounded  lies, 
"Invisible  are  we  to  all  mortal  eyes. 
"Your  name  have  I  added  to  my  already  long  roll, 
"On  guard  then,  you  fool,  and  to  Hell  with  your  soul." 


Eye  to  eye, 
Sword  to  sword, 
The  strange  combat  begins, 

A  pale,  beardless  youth  'gainst  the  Monarch  of  Sins. 
But  not  so  unequal  as  at  first  would  appear, 
Phillip's  fame  with  the  sword  was  well  known  far  and 
near. 

With  the  right  or  the  left,  he  was  equally  skilled, 
Either  arm  full  controlled, 

He  could  do  as  he  willed. 


Blow  for  blow, 

Steel  to  steel, 

Neither  vantage  could  gain, 

The  odds  appeared  even,  it  was  brain  against  brain. 

They  now  fight  for  position,  and  each  vainly  tries 

To  well  hold  the  sun's  glare  in  his  opponent's  eyes. 

As  the  thrusts  and  the  parries  'tween  the  two  swiftly 

passed. 
Phillip  thought  of  the  hour  that  was  then  waning  fast, 

No  sooner  had  Phillip  a  new  feint  or  pass  tried, 
But  each,  Satan  countered, 

Phillip's  sword  turned  aside. 


90  JEAN  RIVARD 

Step  by  step, 

Blade  to  blade, 

The  small  circle  they  raced, 

Now  forward,  then  back,  with  no  telling  blow  placed. 

Then  Satan,  impatient  at  the  time  being  lost, 

By  one  blow  strove  to  break  the  sword  his  had  crossed. 

Like  a  bolt,  Phillip  then  through  the  open  guard  tierced 

With    aim    that,    unerring,    would    have    Satan's    heart 

pierced. 
The  point  glanced  with  a  shock  that  his  fingers  could 

feel, 

Phillip  finds  out  at  last 
That  his  foe's  clad  in  steel. 


Phillip  then  knew  the  hand  that  he  had  to  contend, 

Also  knew  that  two  souls  on  his  sword  did  depend, 

But  had  been  placed  before  where  his  quick  wits  had  won, 

In  a  second,  side-stepped,  by  the  unclouded  sun 

Were  Satan's  eyes  dimmed. 

Phillip  struck  fast  and  hard, 

By  his  favorite  feint  he  broke  down  the  guard, 

And  lunged  for  the  eyes,  so  fierce  was  the  thrust, 

As  Satan  reeled  backward, 

His  head  struck  the  dust. 

With  the  roar  of  a  lion,  that  has  long  been  enchained, 
Before  Phillip  could  move,  had  his  feet  well  regained, 
Phillip's  aim  had  been  good,  but  it  landed  too  high, 
There  was  now  a  wide  gash  just  above  Satan's  eye. 


JEAN  RIVARD  91 

Chagrined  by  the  thought  that  a  new-to-war  lad, 

Had  drawn  the  first  blood, 

Satan  sent  all  he  had. 

Ever  coming,  his  sword  did  before  Phillip  play, 

Phillip  still  kept  his  guard, 

But  he  slowly  gave  way. 

Poor  Phillip,  brave  lad,  was  now  sorely  pressed, 

He  was  fighting  THE  MASTER,  and  craved  for  a  rest, 

If  but  for  a  second,  a  short  respite  obtained, 

For  his  fingers  were  numb  and  his  muscles  were  strained. 

In  drops  of  blood  sweated, 

Which  slowly  did  drip 

To  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  thus  loosened  his  grip 

As  he  shifted  to  left,  and  again  to  the  right, 

Awaiting  the  time 

He  could  thrust  with  his  might. 

As  he  thought  of  his  father,  facing  Death,  undismayed, 

Of  the  Great  Sacrifice  he'd  unselfishly  made, 

Came  a  lump  in  his  throat,  and  a  tear  then  did  fall, 

He  only  was  human, 

And  a  lad,  after  all. 

Then  as  though  doomed  by  fate,  o'er  a  sword  belt  he 

tripped 

Which  had  half  buried  lain,  unguarded  he  slipped 
With  one  knee  to  the  ground,  with  his  life  soon  would 

part, 

Could  not  ward  off  the  steel 
That  was  aimed  at  his  heart, 


92  JEAN  RIVARD 

As  Jean's  fast  closing  eyes  saw  his  Phillip  outdone, 

Near  expiring,  he  cried 

"Oh,  God,  save  my  son." 

At  the  sacred  word,  "God," 

Satan  startled  did  glance  for  a  second  at  Jean, 

AND  THE  LAD  SAW  HIS  CHANCE. 

With  a  strength  newly  born,  and  both  hands  to  the  sword, 

His  knee  then  unbent, 

Like  a  flash,  upward  gored. 

With  his  heart  cut  in  two,  Satan  backward  was  thrown, 

He  had  lost  the  two  souls, 

Back  to  Hell  went  alone. 

Leaving  sword  where  'twas  thrust,  then  to  Jean,  Phillip 

ran, 

It  was  just  one  half  hour  since  the  combat  began. 
And  the  last  words  that  passed  between  father  and  son, 
Were  these  simple  four, 
"My  Phillip,  well  done." 

Then  from  Jean's  tired  heart  golden  mist  did  arise, 
Which  shaped  like  a  crown 
As  it  mounted  the  skies. 

Jean's  soul,  battle-purged,  has  received  its  reward, 
Re-united  now  with  the  dear  heart,  near  his  Lord. 

\Yhere  had  been  Satan  lying,  the  ground  now  was  bare, 
The  sword  belt  excepting,  Phillip  saw  nothing  there 
Save  only  "The  Two"  which  had  made  their  last  thrust, 
Jean's  red  and  dented,  Phillip's  eaten  with  rust. 
And  the  Crusader's  sword,  held  by  him  who  was  mailed, 


JEAN  RIVARD  93 

For  the  first  time  since  forged 

In  its  mission  had  failed. 

Seemed  to  know  that  the  hand  which  had  guided  the 

blade, 

Was  the  HAND  that  had  TORN 
Treaties  carefully  made. 

Reposed  now  is  Jean's  soul  in  his  God's  starry  world, 

By  one  word,  had  been  kept  from  to  Hell  being  hurled, 

And  Phillip,  who'd  bravely  tried  his  father  to  save, 

Was  in  turn  saved  by  Jean  from  an  untimely  grave. 

No  free  agent  was  Jean  when  he  mortgaged  his  soul, 

Over  that  to  him  given,  then  had  he  no  control. 

But  God,  who  rules  all,  had  made  the  decree 

That  in  this,  Satan's  power  would  limited  be. 

Though  at  times  he  aspires  to  absolute  reign, 

To  his  Master  Supreme  must  a  servant  remain. 

The  mind  war-deranged,  God  had  fully  restored, 

So  that  Jean,  if  repentant,  might  speak  The  Great  Word. 

Recorded  not  against  him  things  in  ignorance  done, 

Expects  not  that  of  Man  found  in  Angels  alone. 

Not  for  Him  to  destroy  what  Himself  had  created, 

Opened  He  wide  the  door  to  the  pilgrim  belated. 

In  the  Book  were  the  names,  in  letters  of  gold 

Of  those  who  had  strayed,  but  returned  to  the  fold, 

The  Recording  Angel  had  inscribed  with  his  pen 

The  words  "Jean  Rivard,  unlike  other  men." 

The  End 


